On An Unrelated Note: Short Stories

Julian

As soon as I wake up, I feel the sun streaming through my windows. The warmth presses down on me, it seems to heighten the bad taste in my mouth.

"Fuck," I say, rolling over. My stomach is killing me. No, not killing me. It's doing the opposite of killing me.

I stumble into the bathroom, barley reaching the toilet as I throw up. I can't stop, it's like my body wants to forget last night. Retch, another bad decision down the toilet. Retch, another wasted night gone. Retch, another failed attempt. Over and over.

I finally sit up. I'm shaking, clammy and sweating. My head is folding in on its self. My heart beats spastically, way to fast then way too slow. My eyes hurt, I probably cried through the night. My hair is tangled and oily, I don't think I've showered in a week. Laundry fills every corner of my apartment, I don't think I've done that in a year.

Amy always did the laundry, I guess. She was good at that. She would tug my hand along, coaxing me to the laundromat, me laughing and smiling, crazy in love.

I wonder if she can see me now, kneeling on the bathroom floor, gross and sticky with vomit and sweat, crying because again, I failed to take my own life. Crying because I want to be with her, want to hold her and kiss her, want to fight with her, want to scream and yell and anything anything. Just to be with her.

But I guess God or whomever decided to keep me here, laughing like a bully who holds your head underwater. Drowning me, cackling as I splutter and choke, as I keep getting fired from jobs, keep eating without tasting, keep forgetting to shower, keep crying, keep trying to end this to kill myself to please God make it stop make it stop.

And then I lie down on the tile floor, the cool stone pushing into my back.

My heartbeat is slowing, whimpering.

I wonder what my childhood self would say if they knew my destiny.

The one who loved fossils. THUMP. The one who eagerly helped ma prepare latkes and played dreidel. THUMP. The one who watched baseball with dad. THUMP.

My heartbeat grows steadier.

The high schooler who kept a cactus garden. THUMP. The one who jumped up and down with excitement when he got his first car. THUMP. The one who cried when a girl rejected him for prom. THUMP. That one took a while to get over. THUMP. She was beautiful. THUMP. The love of his life, he thought. THUMP. but he got over her. THUMP. he got over her. THUMP. He got over her.

I got over her.

I get up. I take a shower. I grudgingly go to the laundromat. And the grocery store. I brush my teeth and comb my hair. I gingerly put the pieces of my life back together.

I promise myself no more. No more attempts on my life. I will see her again soon. Soon enough.

I tell my self it will be ok. It will be ok. Ok. Ok. Over and over like a heart beat, the rhetoric keeping me going. Blocking out the pain. It never goes all the way away, but I can stand it now.

And I think of that morning I woke up, screaming that I did. And I realize it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.